


Snow

by morgan_cian



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan_cian/pseuds/morgan_cian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gets snowed in while visiting Nick in Texas, wtf?  You asked for snow, <a href="http://cgravenstone.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://cgravenstone.livejournal.com/"></a><b>cgravenstone</b>, probably not the pairing you wanted but I hope you enjoy it just the same.  I know you have a cuddly center, I have your number. Happy Birthday, sweetheart!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Greg gritted out. Nick’s shoulders tensed before he gave a casual shrug.

The terminal board was flashing cancelled all over. No flights were leaving the Dallas/Fort Worth area. The local news anchors, talking heads on multiple monitors, were encouraging every one to use cautious on bridges and overpasses. The consensus was if you needed to be out, then hurry the hell up and get locked down for the night. It would be a dangerous mix of ice and snow very soon.

“But…but,” he sputtered as he followed Nick, “This is Texas!”

The bastard had the nerve to chuckle, “We’ve been known to have bad weather, G, especially in January.”

Greg hunched into his too thin coat as the wind bit into him with sharp teeth, “Laugh it up, big guy, you are gonna be the one to call Cath.”

He felt a modicum of satisfaction when Nick Stokes blanched, paling beneath his normal tan skin.

“Well, shit.”

*~*

It was harmless, really. Nick had used some backlog of leave to take a week’s vacation to the home of his birth. They were finally staffed enough to handle it. Hell, Greg had been rubbing his hands in glee at his own long weekend after pulling a double on a case that was finally closed.

Nick’s call and offer of ‘Come see the big D, G,’ had Greg snorting with laughter but had him considering as well. He had talked to Nick’s parents on occasion and after Warrick’s death, they had understandably drawn closer, the sake of longevity in the face of the new uncertainties.

His long suffering, much hidden love affair with the older man notwithstanding, Greg was resolute.

“Come on, G,” the thick drawl washed over him and weakened him. “My folks would love to have you, and we can fly back together, ready for shift come Monday.”

Two days of seeing a softer, relaxed, more playful side of Nick had been worth it. He was taken sightseeing in an old beat up Jeep Wrangler. He had stayed the hell out of the barns. He had eaten so much food, he thought he would explode, but Momma Stokes wouldn’t take his polite refusals, instead, she would glare at Nick, who wisely kept out of it.

“He’s much too thin, he needs to be fattened up.”

Greg had felt his face heat at that. He was quite happy with his slender build, thank you, very much.

And then it was Judge Stokes, that lowered the boom.

“I hate to have to tell you boys this, but it looks like we are in for an ice storm, Pancho.”

Greg wisely kept his mouth shut. But you had to love when tough, stoic men stood on the porch, scratching their chins, staring at the sky, as if they could divine the forecast from the miles and miles of high wispy clouds.

“We should be able to fly out before it hits, Cisco,” Nick said seriously.

That was that. Luggage, more for Nick, plane tickets, in Greg’s jacket pocket, and a ride to the airport, amidst an ever darkening sky, Nick’s hands had tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

Again, Greg kept his mouth shut. Until there flight was cancelled.

*~*

Judge Stokes helped them carry their luggage back into the house that was so warm it was like a physical caress. Then there was the smell, of crackling wood and food.

“Let me fix you boys a plate,” Mrs. Stokes called.

Greg sighed. The feel of a warm hand on his shoulder had him turning, meeting Nick’s dark coffee eyes.

“I’m sorry, G.”

Greg had an addiction for coffee.

Much later, lying in bed, warm and lonely, Greg stared at the ceiling that should have been unfamiliar but after the weekend, a comfort. He was too keyed up; too many years on the night shift did not make sleeping easy.

What was he doing? Hanging out at Nick’s family home, content with what, he asked himself again.

That’s it. Back in Vegas, he was going to put this…longing behind him. Contentment could come from friendship, nothing more. So what if his heart thumped painfully and his throat felt like it was being squeezed shut to the point of being choked.

Maybe this weekend was enough to finally make him move on. He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

When the mattress dipped his eyes flew open in shock. A warm hand touched his shin lightly.

“Shhhh, G, it’s just me.”

He wanted squeeze his eyes shut. _No no no no…_ Just make it all go away.

But there he was, softened and warm, glasses perched on his nose, a worn t-shirt stretched across his torso, his legs encased in soft flannel.

Greg’s heart leapt and then dropped once more. It went splat at the feet of a sleepy, adorable Nick Stokes.

“Greg?”

He licked his lips and plastered on wide eyed, annoyed at being disturbed from slumber façade. “I’m awake.”

Nick’s grin was huge, eyes crinkled. He reached out once more, the warmth of his fingers wrapping themselves around Greg’s bicep.

“You gotta see this.”

Unresisting, the shadows hiding his obsession, Greg allowed himself to be drawn out of the warm nest of his borrowed bed. When he shivered, Nick’s arm went about him. When he shuddered violently, Nick hugged him closer.

“Damn,” Nick muttered and drew a throw from the foot of the bed. “I forgot how cold these bedrooms get.”

Greg stayed still as he was wrapped up and once more held in Nick’s one armed embrace. He damned himself a fool as he wordlessly followed Nick’s gentle cajoling. His vow of moving on crumbled into dust.

He blinked as Nick opened the blinds and encouraged him closer to the ice cold pane of glass. His breathe stuttered before vapor smudged the vision in white.

He was a California boy transplanted to the deserts of Vegas and still a childlike yearning overwhelmed him. The flakes were fluttering against the dull light of moon and star, enough that it had accumulated covering the yard in a blanket of purity.

“What do you think?” Nick’s breath was warm against his ear.

“It’s beautiful,” Greg replied hoarsely.

He thought he felt the butterfly brush of lips against his temple, “That it is,” Nick returned, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nick’s free arm came up to apply gentle pressure, until Greg rested against his chest, his chin pressed against his hair.

“Nicky?” The endearment slipped out and Greg couldn’t take it back. It was the name that he called in the dark as he panted, his shame splattered across his abdomen.

He felt Nick tense but his hands slipped beneath the blanket to cradle Greg’s hands with his own. Greg loved Nick’s hands, broad palmed, strong fingers, and blunt nails. It reminded him of his resolve and to protect his soul, he struggled uselessly to get away from the embrace he had longed for, for years.

“Easy, Greg,” Nick did not force him, his arms loose but offering so much more. “I know.”

Greg sagged, “For how long?”

“Long enough to need a kick in the ass,” Nick sounded apologetic. “Was afraid I waited too long.”

Greg bit his lip and used his thumb to wipe away the moisture. He needed to see the purity of the unbroken landscape.

“Almost did.”

Nick’s arms tightened once more and the damp touch to his temple, near his hairline, was definitely Nick’s lips on his skin. They were quiet as they watched the gentle, continual shake of globelike flakes fall from the midnight sky.

It was Nick that broke the quiet, “If it is more snow than ice then I have plans, G.”

Greg turned his head until it was cradled in the groove of Nick’s neck and shoulder, “Plans?”

“Lots of ‘em,” Greg could see the fine lines around Nick’s eyes, the honeyed drawl warming him on the inside. “Snow balls, snow angels, snow forts…”

“Don’t have anything to wear,” His voice was a mumble; Nick’s warmth was making his eyes feel heavy.

Nick chuckled softly, “Come on, sleepy head.”

“Catherine is gonna kill us,” Greg slurred as he was lowered onto cold sheets and warm blankets tucked around him.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Nick replied.

Greg watched from beneath his lashes a moment of uncertainty cross Nick’s features. The he was leaning down and brushing a kiss against Greg’s forehead.

“I’ll take care of you.”


End file.
